


to what leads my heart home

by writingbunny



Series: 'twixt crystal shards, my love lies with you [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Named Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Post-Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:53:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29131362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingbunny/pseuds/writingbunny
Summary: there are moments lost between, when you're so focused on the end.two souls who just don't know how to let the weight down, even when it all draws to a close.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Original Character(s), G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Series: 'twixt crystal shards, my love lies with you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137656
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20





	to what leads my heart home

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [don't you hear me howling?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29080782) by [thepapernautilus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepapernautilus/pseuds/thepapernautilus). 



> hello hello! this is my first ffxiv fic, though i've admittedly been lurking in the ao3 pages for a while. this is just the first from a series of prompts that i accumulated while reading a fic made for me by thepapernautilus! i'd initially commissioned naut to write a fic for me because i've been missing inspiration for a good long while, and i've wanted to write WolExarch since last year, but the words just weren't coming for me. Lo and Behold, ever since reading her work, i've been feeling the writing itch take over me once again! if i don't manage to write all ten prompts for them, i will be highly disappointed in myself dhbsdhsa !! thanks for the wellspring of inspiration, naut!! <3
> 
> this is my first time writing G'raha, and its highly likely I didn't quite hit the mark, so please let me know if you notice any mistakes, thank you!!

He awakens, for not the first time today, to the most curious sound - of _humming_.

Soft. Sweet. A tune most deliriously _enchanting_.

From the depths of a dreamless sleep, does the melody echo through his mind, crimson hues flickering open in dim awareness; as his frail frame takes but a moment to follow; still shackled, it seems, by the languid weight of years of inactivity —

Only for his own body to react without conscious thought, a grunt drawing from his throat, when so suddenly does the sound come to a most abrupt and resounding **stop**.

Yet it is the soft puff of laughter that brushes against his ear that quickly soothes any of those same misgivings in nothing but a moment.

And when he finally draws himself further into lucidity, it is to the welcome comfort of a familiar touch. The slow carding of delicate fingertips through his hair, the gentle scrape of nails against his scalp; as he vaguely comprehends the sensation of one weaving viridian strands into a neat little plait against his nape.

Ah, so that was why he was so out of it.

“You fell asleep again.” She whispers with amusement, a soft utterance ushered along into the space between; a mere echo of thought, yet still more than enough to send a delicious _shiver_ racing up the length of his spine, where it curls into something imperceptibly levin like within. For even in such a lethargic state, lucidity just barely hanging on by a thread, there was no stopping it. 

For he was attuned to her every action, her every breath, her every whisper; regardless if it was in this body or the last. And he would have it no other way. 

And if she catches his reaction, she does not comment – yet it is the hand that runs a reassuring warmth down the length of his arm that perhaps speaks for itself.

If nothing else, that makes it all just far, _far_ worse.

His shuddering breath speaks volumes. “Mine apologies.” He begins, as his voice rasps along the silence in clear disuse. “It’s admittedly – extremely _difficult_ not to. The lingering fatigue left aside, I’d read tales of your – as I remember them, a mention of ‘ _strong, yet tender fingers_ ’ in the excerpt of a book once, and while I did wonder where such rumors had initially come from – I can see the claims are not without merit.”

The statement appears to surprise her, as for a moment does her hand clench tightly around his braid in shock, before a short peal of amusement rings out into the quiet room. “Twelve forfend,” She laughs, “but does even that small morsel make it into all those history books, then?”

G’raha finds he cannot help a mild chuckle in answer, the warmth of her mirth suffusing him with light – even as the idle brush of digits against his neck lent to him a sensation of something far darker. Crimson hues half lidded, and he prays she does not notice the _simmer_ that he feels whispering beneath his skin, should she take that moment to come around and see his face.

It was likely she would only presume him to still be out of sorts, of course, considering he was still meant to be regaining his strength. And yet the feelings her touch had inspired within him could not be mistaken for anything else.

He could be on his death bed, he’d imagined, on the peak of a mountain in the Coerthas Central Highlands, and still – would it never quench the _fire_ of what he’d felt for her.

Oh, how his heart ( now so suffused with the love of one both ancient and youthful, forged from one star and the next ) still _yearned_ for her.

And perhaps it is with a bit of both relief and sadness, that she appears to finish off the braid, the final graze of her touch prompting an ever slight tremble of his lips –

Yet it is when she finally edges towards his front, scarlet hues connecting with that of aquamarine blue, that he finds that he dare not mind that she tests his frail heart so much. When she looks at him like that, with eyes that glisten with shimmers of amusement, and affection, and delight, and the delicate spark of something more…

No, he dare not mind. He would take anything and everything and _more_ , if only to keep her looking at him – just him… just like that.

“Dare I ask what other dirty little secrets have been disclosed in those books?”

With such warmth radiating against him in waves, weary exhaustion eases from the lines of his visage in answer. “You would be surprised at all of which has been recorded in your footsteps, my friend. The trials, the triumphs, and all that lingered between. Every last piece that could be remembered of you was a gift, for it brought your very essence back into the forefront of our lives. And it was a joy to read; for me and many others – a most needed comfort on even the best of days, and most especially on the more...” And his eyes shutter off for but a fleeting moment, before his voice falls into a ragged whisper. “Trying ones, as well.”

And her breathing comes to a stuttering halt at that, as the very air between them seems to still to an immediate stop.

A long moment passes. And like a whisper, a slow breath eases from her lips – quiet, delicate, featherlike in quality. When next he catches her gaze, a most tender light has blossomed within, to be accompanied by a thin measure of something else that makes his very heart **ache**.

He knows what she is about to say before it leaves her.

“You have no reason – “ He starts, just as her lips come poised to open, “To apologize, Jazzele – if that is indeed what you are intending to do.”

And by the way her lips curl downwards, and her eyes flutter in forlorn guilt… he knows he’s aimed his mark true. 

A sad smile tints his lips – oh, how he’d wishes he’d been _wrong_.

But he continues in the wake of her ensuing silence, drawing upon the remaining vestiges of the Exarch as he does; his voice both even and tempered – warmth and reason steeped with comfort.

“You've taken on such painful burdens, Jazzele. The pain of war. The pain of loss. The painful fear of nearly losing an entire **star**.” There is nothing but gentleness that reigns aloud in his words; gentleness and understanding, and truth beyond all truth, for who else could say that they could truly empathize with her pain, then the one who had **lived** to see it all fall apart? “And while you had always been enough to turn the tides of fate on every situation before this; on this matter… we had been dealt a heavy hand, and even with all your blessings, and all your strengths, there was nothing that you could have done to stop it. Indeed, Jazzele – you tried.” He makes sure to intone, as crimson catches sapphire when her eyes dart back for but a moment. “By all accounts, and by all the means that were possible to you, I tell you now – _you tried_.”

And his gaze dare not leave hers, lest she allow herself to find shelter in her misplaced guilt once more. And once more, if for good measure - 

“There was no stopping it.”

And her eyes take on a sheen of luminous blue at his words, as his statement seems to latch on to something that’d festered deep within her heart. A concept she had not dared allow herself to linger on in the midst of her fight in the First, lest it make her hands quiver on her journey, her own frail heart _shake_. For there had been much to consider on her path forward; decisions to be made on a number of things that would come to affect not only her, but so many ( too many ) lives that lay widely beyond her grasp. 

She had not been given time to consider until now – that for all she had accomplished, that for all that she had _saved_ –

In another lifetime – it was all, completely and inexplicably - **_lost_**.

And she takes a moment to let his words sink in, to let them wrap around her - a balm to soothe the frazzled reminders of her journey, a panacea to the fear that'd remained settled within her heart. Her eyes gaze into his, refusing to so much as blink - until after a long, long moment, and with the faint feeling of relief - does whatever it is that strangled her so seem to finally _lift_. 

Carefully. Gently. Untangling itself from around the delicate heart beating within her chest, until even her eyes come to ease with the whisper of it.

He smiles; a small, if not mild upturn of lips. And in answer - in final, gratified answer -- she does too.

She does too.

“You are too kind to me, G’raha.” Jazzele whispers, as leporine ears seem to ease forward in relief, the ensuing maelstrom within having flicked them backwards moments before.

And he shakes his head in response, as the fluttering feeling of relief lightens his own heart – the knowledge that he’d been able to help easing his own weight. For he knew that exact guilt all too well. And ho, what he would **do** to never see that sadness cross her eyes again.

“Not kind, I do not think.” He chuckles down at his hands, as he vaguely registers her digits beginning to shift at the long fringe that covers his eyes; a slight parting of vermilion strands, as she arranges one hair clip, and then the next. “Just honest. For you – you, who have done _so much_ – so much more then anyone else on this entire star… you of all people, do not deserve such guilt.”

And perhaps that statement draws something within her, for after a short moment do delicate hands stop – only for a hand to inch those same fingertips to just beneath his chin, to draw his eyes upwards. To face her own, as she stared down at him with an expression of which he could not read. Or perhaps one instead, that he _feared_ to put a name to. As crimson hues blew wide open, with lungs refusing to draw breath - he could not take it. He wouldn't. 

For how could his heart survive if he were _wrong_?

The very thought _**hurts** _him, beyond nothing else. 

And it seems she recognizes that as well, for the tender look in her eye only softens ever more as she gazes down at him, thumb tracing idly against his jawline; a softer, most delicate touch – a sensation that sent heat coaxing against his skin, as its path sent it mere inches from his lips, mere inches from his stuttering breath – in a bid that he dimly ascertained was his whole body yearning so deeply to **_kiss her._**

Her. Any part of her. Be it her fingers, or her wrist, or those plush, perfect lips – that tempted him with their very _existence_.

“Raha.” She utters, and oh, how his very being _shudders_ to hear that name on her lips. The sweetest sound he’d ever heard, that made his crimson orbs dilate, focusing with such sheer intensity on her mouth; on every word and every breath and every _whisper_ that should leave ever those plush velvet tiers.

Oh, _wicked white_ \--- whatever did she do to him?

“Hmm?” He hums back, as he leans into her touch, somehow suddenly feeling wine drunk – inebriated, fixated on her very presence. He cannot help but _linger_.

And a soft and most delicate sound ushers from between, as the corners of her eyes curl upwards in a gentle smile. “If you would wipe my conscience clean of heartache,” She murmurs, her own eyes fixated on his lips, as though she herself could not help her touch. “Then I would ask that you do the same. As for all that we have achieved now, as of this moment – for every breath that we take and every moment that we remain standing --- is only by virtue of the future forged for us by _you_.”

And he sucks in a sharp breath in response, eyes widening, ears canting forward – as though ready to _counter_ her –

But she knows him. As much as he does her, apparently.

And it takes nothing but the slight press of her finger against his lips to calm him, to shutter him into silence – lest he lose the sanctity of this touch, of this moment, the faintest taste of all that he could ever want and more – he does not **dare**.

For he loves her. He loves her.

With all his heart, and all his mind, and with the combined force of both this body, and another one lost to another shard –

_He loves her._

“And you will not be allowed to say otherwise. Not to me, not to anyone. For it was your resolve to rest, to chase your duty until its end, to give the Source another chance to live,” She continues, as lone fingertip drifts away once more, only to resume its gentle graze against his skin. “That **saved** us. And it is a sacrifice that no other could have made. One that none of us could have asked of you, even knowing what was to come – and still. You did it. And for all that you have faced in our absence; the horror and the terror and the pain, of which we could not weather with you, to help as you bore this burden alone…” And she crouches before him, to just beneath his line of sight, to cup his cheek in her hand, and to smile – ever so sweet, with gratefulness overrun within her eyes, “I thank you, G’raha Tia. For every breath I take, _I thank you_.”

And his heart catches at her words, stuttering and stumbling within his chest as a luminous shine threatens to fall from his eyes – the sensations her words evoke, and if not to make it worse, her other hand grasps his, dragging it to her chest, where he can feel her heart – beating, pounding, just as strong, just as hard as his own -

Twelve help him.

**_How he loved her._ **

He closes his eyes in answer, uncertain of how much more he could take, when every sensation overwhelmed him beyond end –

_‘Jazzele, Jazzele, Jazzele –_

_For all that I have suffered, I would do that and more._

_To guarantee your safety, your life, I would be undone.’_

And it is a vow that he makes to himself, as his eyes shift open to gaze upon her once more – marveling at her radiance, at her beauty, at her _strength_ –

For all that he had suffered, he would never _regret_.

For her, would he do it all over again.

For in his heart – there was no future to be had _without her._

“You are too kind.” He rasps in turn, his voice edging on something frayed and vulnerable. And oh, but to watch her face light up, a soft breath of laughter issued between her lips, as her hand clasped his own ever so tight ---

What a beautiful adventure it would be, to be by her side for the rest of his life.

“Not kind, I don’t think.” She beams at him, a teasing wink sent his way. “Just honest, or so I’ve been told.”

And he chuckles in return, the corner of his eyes uplifting in merriment, as he strives to hold on to this moment – to the effervescence of her laugh, to the steady clasp of his hand in hers, to the feel of her heart, beating in time to his own –

No matter what would come, he would not give up this moment for the world.

“Now then –“ She continues, the shadows having flitted from her eyes, as she resumes with pinning back the wayward strands of his hair, “I do believe you owe me some information on whatever wild and random tales you’ve heard of me in your time, and I’ll verify whether there’s any truth to them or not – if you would be so kind.”

His answering smile is only all too pleased. “I’m afraid we’d be at it for quite some while then, my friend.”

And he would not have it any other way. 

**Author's Note:**

> come join the book club, where amazing writers and positivity reigns galore! 
> 
> https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic


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